All Beauty Must Die
by Iorhael
Summary: Too broken after the perilous journey, Frodo could hardly know who or where to look. One of the Big Folk seemed kind, but who knows who he really was? Rated for violence and slash.


**All Beauty Must Die**

Warning: character death

AN: Inspired by Gregorian's song: _Where the Wild Roses Grow_

Beta: Aelfgifu

It was not that Frodo did not know him. He was the one that usually made the hobbit's bed, spread new, pristine blankets, and fluffed up the pillows. Frodo just had never learned his name. He knew only that this man was one of the Gondorian soldiers, tall, slender, and fair-haired, and often reminded Frodo of Faramir. But with bluish purple eyes shining sharply and well-sculpted nose and jaw, the soldier often had Frodo gasp in admiration and blush as the hobbit was caught staring.

But usually the man just smiled dismissively. He merely stooped down to the halfling who would stand rigidly by the door while he was cleaning up. "Need not be afraid, m'lord," whispered the Gondorian in Frodo's ear.

Afraid? But that was not the cause.

"I…" Frodo trembled, blushing even more. And more as the man's long finger rested on his parted lips.

"Ssh," the Gondorian quieted him, eyes glinting a little.

"…am not a lord," continued Frodo weakly when the finger deserted his lips.

"Ssh," hissed the man again. "See me near the Anduin before lunch." Frodo felt as if he were under a spell. And when the man briefly stroked his jaw, Frodo leant into the touch.

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This would be their –nth secret meeting by the Anduin River. But it was not secret enough. Frodo jumped in surprise when a firm grip closed around his upper arm as he was about to step out of the gates of the White City.

"Aragorn!" Frodo cried softly as he whirled his head.

The King regarded Frodo coldly. "Never assume I don't know what's taking place around me, Frodo. I've been watching you. I've watched you acting strangely for the past fortnight. You've been wandering by yourself, out of the city, and no one seems to know where you've gone."

Aragorn would never tell Frodo that one of the sentinels had spotted the hobbit proceeding towards the woods. It was the King's responsibility to make sure that the Ring-bearer was safe, but he did not want Frodo to feel that he was under close watch or to even feel imprisoned here in Minas Tirith. Thus, he was free to go anywhere he wanted. Nevertheless…

"Frodo, you are barely healed," Aragorn sighed wearily, being less stern now. "You need to rest more."

"I'm rested enough, your Majesty," Frodo muttered, but his tone softened immediately. "Aragorn, please. I just need to move a little – to loosen my stiff muscles."

_And to release my longing_, Frodo added silently.

Three days ago was the last time Frodo met his man, drowning in him, tilting up towards him to receive his deep, passionate kiss, submitting into light, warm touches on all over his skin, breathing in the sweet fragrance of a rose brought to him.

_The rose man_ was how Frodo nicknamed the Gondorian soldier for he had always brought him a stem of rose every time they met. For him, Frodo was beyond the beauty of the flower, but on the days without the hobbit, only that flower could cheer him up. That was what the soldier told Frodo.

And it had been three days now, and Frodo could barely wait to meet him today as promised. But knowing Aragorn, Frodo knew it was tougher to rid of him than to slay a Balrog. He had to use a different ruse. Frodo sighed and turned around, starting towards the directions of the city.

"All right, Aragorn, if you think I'm not yet capable to go by myself, I will just return to my room."

Aragorn frowned at the gloomy tone of Frodo's voice. The hobbit's pleasure was also above anything they had to sustain. The man reached for Frodo's shoulder.

"That is… unnecessary, Frodo. I want you to be happy. This way you will be sorrowful and that won't help your healing. I only ask to accompany you, Frodo, or one of my men will if you won't allow me."

Frodo blanched. But that would be too embarrassing for others to see him and the soldier together. Likewise, he could not tell Aragorn that he in fact had had a company of one in the King's troop. That was also why not once had Frodo ever felt unsafe when he was with his man.

"I – I'd rather go by myself, Aragorn," said Frodo warily. He wondered if he could ever get out of this tiring argument. As a matter a fact, he had started to get weary. Frodo was prepared to yield to whatever Aragorn asked next, when the Dúnadan decided to grant the hobbit's plea. It was no use carrying on the tiff with a stubborn hobbit. Aragorn could always employ his own trick though he loathed having to stalk his own friend.

"Ah, I guess that's fine with me, Frodo." Aragorn made his best attempt to keep his face straight. "Go, if you must."

Frodo's eyes were as big as saucers. He could not believe his ears. Aragorn let him go? Without guards? His heart clenched as he thought upon the trust his friend placed upon him; Frodo wound his arms around Aragorn's midsection tightly, almost sending the man sprawling to the ground.

"Thank you, Aragorn, thank you!" His sob was muffled by the man's heavy attire.

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The leaves on the end of each twig had never looked greener. The canopy of trees in this woodland had never been this sheltering. The surface of the water in the river sparkled in, forming minute scales that reflected the lights falling against them. Frodo stood on the riverbank, small ripples beating his bare feet, breathing in the unsullied air and hushed peace around him. That was – before the scent of a rose interposed, and Frodo smiled.

He did not turn back. He needed not to. He knew who was there with him.

A big, gentle hand grasped Frodo's shoulder from behind, while another brought the rose into the hobbit's line of vision. Frodo took the flower and sniffed it. He leaned back and looked up to the face he had got to worship.

"Why this place, beloved? And why rose?" whispered Frodo.

The man stooped to brush lightly Frodo's nose with his own.

"Nothing is as lovely as a rose, save for yourself, my beauty. And this place is most appropriate for it's close to the rose bushes I found long time ago over there." The man nodded to the direction behind him. Frodo made to see the place but the soldier stilled him. "Yet, I still think it's not the most fitting place to grow them." He bent down but Frodo could not see for what purpose. Then he straightened up and kissed the halfling's right temple.

"But now I know."

Frodo barely heard or saw the movement above his head. He only felt the callused hand of the man rubbed on his left cheek, and leant into it. And the hobbit heard then – as if from a distance – the sickening crack of something hard against the skull. His skull. Only a moment after had Frodo felt the white pain behind his head. But he was spared the chance to scream or feel the pain further as soon afterwards total darkness engulfed him and Frodo sensed nothing more.

Everything was lost on Frodo: the man laying him on his back, caressing his porcelain skin, grazing his closed lids with wet lips, and planting the last stem of rose between Frodo's parted lips.

"I know just the right place for this rose, love," the man purred. "Inside you. Though it will wither in the end, but all beauties must not part." He rose. Wiped his eye with the back of his hand. "Yet somehow, all beauty must die."

The soldier was adrift in his own sorrow as his sobs got louder. His head was bent and his body shook, but not for long. A swift arrow sliced the air in front of him and before he could do anything, it went past his heavy garb and plunged all the way into his chest.

Faintly he heard a voice say, "Fine shot, Legolas."

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The murky surroundings slowly turned blurry before eventually all that was left was a thinning shadow. Frodo blinked several times, groaning weakly at the pulsating pain on his head.

"Frodo? Are you awake?"

The Ring-bearer made as if to push his body off the bed. But a strong hand aborted his effort.

"No, you stay in your bed."

"Aragorn? What happened?" Frodo could recognize several faces around him after a moment: Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf, Legolas, and Aragorn right above him. Another flashed in his mind, and he flinched. His man. Where was he?

"Are you looking for Tilraen, Frodo?" Frodo glanced at Aragorn, his face a mask of humiliation, and anger, too.

"I don't know his name," he said defiantly. Aragorn sighed.

"Forgive me, Frodo, if you've ever loved him. He's dead. He tried to kill you."

_Oh? Is that why his head hurts so much? _But Frodo had no memories of anything concerning their last meeting. He clasped his mouth tightly and closed his eyes as Aragorn explained to him who his _lover_ was.

"Tilraen lost his lover in the battle, Frodo, and he turned mad afterwards. I found out about it just now. I had no reservations about him so I assigned him here to help you with things. I'm so sorry, Frodo. But we managed to track you both down, and Legolas shot him dead. He thought you were dead already, and--" Aragorn's voice choked.

Frodo stared blankly. He had never thought Tilraen would be dangerous to him. He had been so gentle, and he brought him flowers.

As if reading Frodo's thoughts, Aragorn added, "And it was so uncanny, Frodo, to find a rose between your lips. As if, as if you were some kind of a sacrifice. Do you know what he might mean, Frodo?"

Feeling his head wound throb suddenly, Frodo squeezed his eyes shut, and his body started to shudder. The image of himself lying on the ground, breathless, with a flower on his mouth, unnerved him. He had no idea what had brought him to trust a stranger, even sharing a piece of his heart to him. Frodo opened his eyes and gazed up at Aragorn, one he almost hated for his concern over his own well being.

"Aragorn, help…" Frodo's voice shook. He did not know what he needed, since he knew he was safe now. But it might be just his outer being who was safe. Frodo was utterly afraid. His soul felt lost and he had no idea where he should find it.

fin


End file.
